Guided Sleep Meditation & Sleep Hypnosis from Sleep Cove - Mystery Story for Grown Ups: Poirot Investigates Marsden Manor

Episode Date: January 14, 2021

The Bedtime Story of The Tragedy of Marsden Manor. Taken from the collection of short stories from Poirot Investigates. This short sleep story is a detective mystery, with the classic character of the Belgium Detective Poirot. Perfect for adults, Poirot is Agatha Christie's most famous character. Please leave a 5-star review & SUBSCRIBE on Apple and Spotify. Sleep Cove Premium Become a Premium Member for Bonus Episodes & Ad-Free listening: Visit ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.sleepcove.com/support⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ and become a Premium Member. ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Get Instant Access⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ and sign up in two taps. The Sleep Cove Premium Feed includes: - Access to over 400 Ad-free Episodes - Regular Exclusive Bonus Episodes - A Back Catalogue of Dozens of Exclusive Episodes - Full Audiobooks like Alice in Wonderland - Your name read out on the Show - Our Love! Get your 7-day free trial:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠https://sleepcove.com/support⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ For Apple users, click the TRY FREE button for a 2-week free trial and become a Premium Member Today. Support our Sponsors: This episode of Sleep Cove is brought to you by BetterHelp. Give online therapy a try at⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠betterhelp.com/sleepcove ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠and get on your way to being your best self. Our Sister Shows: - Calm Cove - ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://link.chtbl.com/bgSKfkbt⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠- Relaxing Music & Ambient Sounds - Mysteries at Midnight - Mystery Bedtime Stories - ⁠⁠⁠https://link.chtbl.com/skj6YFah⁠⁠⁠ - Let's Begin - Daytime Meditations with wake sections at the end - ⁠⁠⁠https://link.chtbl.com/Z--DgSH4 ⁠⁠⁠ - YouTube Bedtime Story Channel -⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠https://rb.gy/t7wyjk⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ - YouTube Sleep Hypnosis & Meditation Channel - ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.youtube.com/channel/UClE6WJgPYRBtwVQ1qDBrbqw Connect: - Join the Newsletter for a Bonus Meditation -⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠https://www.sleepcove.com/bonus⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ - Facebook:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠https://rb.gy/azpdrd⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ - Instagram:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠https://www.instagram.com/sleep_cove/⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ - TikTok:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠https://www.tiktok.com/@sleepcovechris⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Recommended Products: Comfortable Sleep Headphones -⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠https://www.sleepcove.com/headphones⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ The Best Mattress from Puffy: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://sleepcove.com/puffy⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Our Sister Shows in more detail: Calm Cove is our music channel, where you can find Relaxing Music, White Noise and Nature Sounds - ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://link.chtbl.com/bgSKfkbt⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Let’s Begin is our brand new Day Meditation podcast. Start your day feeling relaxed and positive, or take some time out to unwind with these calming meditations with wakeners at the end so that you can continue your day. If you love our bedtime stories, check out Mysteries at Midnight, our brand-new podcast dedicated to the mystery stories our listeners love so much. Enjoy even more from Poirot, Sherlock and more classic mystery tales. _______________ All Content by Sleep Cove is for educational or entertainment purposes and does not provide or replace professional medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. Always seek the advice of your medical professional before making any changes to your treatment and if in any doubt, contact your doctor. Please listen in a place where you can safely go to sleep. Sleep Cove is not responsible or liable for any loss, damage or injury arising from the use of this content. _________________ Sleep Cove content includes guided sleep meditations, sleep hypnosis (hypnotherapy), sleep stories (visualizations) and Bedtime Stories for adults and grown-ups, all designed to help you get a great night's sleep Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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please go to sleepcove.com slash support. That's sleepcove.com slash support. If you can't support the show right now, please subscribe with a bell to get alerts on all new free content Thank you Have you ever gazed in wonder at the Great Pyramid Have you marvelled at the golden face of Tudankhamun

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It's taken from a short story collection called Poirouin' Best. by Agatha Christie, and the tale is called the tragedy of Marsden Manor. I hope you enjoy it. If you'd rather not listen to a murder mystery before bedtime, I suggest you listen to another podcast episode. There's plenty out there, so please take your choice. And please remember to subscribe and follow Sleepcove, so you're updated whenever a new episode is released. This episode is made possible by Better Help. Is there something interfering with your happiness or is preventing you from achieving your goals?

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who have taken charge of their mental health with the help of an experienced professional. All sleepcove listeners get 10% off your first month, so please visit betterhelp.com slash sleepcove. And let's begin. Waro Investigates. There's tragedy. at Marsden Manor. I'd been called away from town for a few days, and on my return,

Van Poirot in the act of strapping up his small valets. Alabonair, Hastings, I feared you would not have returned in time to accompany me. You are called away on a case, then? Yes, though I am bound to admit it, on the face of it the affair does not seem promising, the Northern Union Insurance Company have asked me to investigate the death of a Mr. Maltraverse,

who a few weeks ago insured his life with them for a large sum of £50,000. Yes, I said much interested. There was of course the usual suicide clause in the policy. In the event of his committing suicide, within a year, the premiums would be forfeited. Mr Maltravers was duly examined by the company's own doctor, and although he was a man slightly past the prime of life, was past him being quite sound health.

However, on Wednesday last, the day before yesterday, the body of Mr. Maltravers was found in the grounds of his house in Essex, Marsden Manor, and the cause of his death is described as some kind of internal hemorrhage. That in itself would be nothing remarkable, but sinister rumours as to men, Mr. Maltraverse financial position have been in the air of late, and the Northern Union have

ascertained beyond any possible doubt that the deceased gentleman stood upon the verge of bankruptcy. Now that alters matters considerably. Maltravers had a beautiful young wife, and it is suggested that he got together all the ready money he would for the purpose of paying the premiums on a life insurance for his wife's benefit, and then committed suicide. Such a thing is not uncommon. In any case, my friend Alfred Wright, who is a director of the Northern Union, has asked me to investigate the facts of the case. But as I told him, I am not very hopeful of success. If the cause of the death had been heart failure, I should have been more sanguine. Heart failure may always be translated as the inability of the local GP.

to discover what his patient really did die of, but a hemorrhage seems fairly definite. Still we can but make some necessary inquiries. Five minutes to pack up your bags, Hastings, and we'll take a taxi to Liverpool Street. About an hour later, we alighted from a great eastern train at the little station of Marston Lay. Inquiries at the station yielded the information

that Marston Manor was about, a mile distant. Warro decided to walk and we betook ourselves along the main street. What is our plan of campaign? I asked. First I will call upon the doctor. I have ascertained there is only one doctor in Marston Lay,

Dr Ralph Bernard. Ah, here we are at his house. The house in question was a kind of superior cottage standing back a little from the road. A brass plate on the gate bore the doctor's name. We passed up the path and rang the bell. We proved to be fortunate in our call.

It was the doctor's consulting hour, and for the moment there were no patients waiting for him. Dr Bernard was an elderly man, high-shouldered and stooping, with a pleasant vagueness of manner. Poirot introduced himself and explained the purpose of our visit, adding that insurance companies were bound to investigate fully in a case of this kind.

Of course, of course, said Dr. Bernard vaguely. I suppose he was such a rich man. His life was insured for a big sum? You consider him a rich man, doctor? The doctor looked rather surprised. Was he not? He kept two cars, you know, and Marsden Manor, is a pretty big place to keep up,

although I believe he bought it very cheaply. I understand that he had considered trouble losses of late, said Poirot, watching the doctor narrowly. The latter, however, merely shook his head sadly. Is this so? Indeed, it is fortunate for his wife then, that there is this life insurance. A very beautiful and charming young creature, but terribly unstrung by this sad catastrophe. A massive nerves, poor thing, I have tried to spare her all I can, but of course the shock was bound to be considerable. You have been attending Mr. Maltraverse recently?

My dear sir, I never attended him. What? I understand Mr. Maltraverse was a Christian scientist, or something of that kind. But you examined the body? Certainly, I was fetched by one of the undergardeners, and the cause of death was clear? Absolutely, there was blood on the lips, but most of the bleeding must have been internal. Was he still lying where you had found him? Yes, the body had not been touched.

He was lying at the edge of a small plantation. He had evidently been out shooting rooks. A small rook rifle lay beside him. The haemorrhage must have occurred quite suddenly, gastric ulcer, without a doubt. No question of his having been shot, eh? My dear sir, I demand pardon, said Piro humbly. But if my memory is not at fault, in the case of a recent murder, the doctor first gave a verdict of heart failure, altering it when their local constable pointed out

there was a bullet wound through the head. You will not find any bullet wounds on the body of Mr. Maltravers, said Dr. Bernard dryly. Now, gentlemen, if there's nothing further, we took the hint. Good morning and many thanks to you. you a doctor for so kindly answering our questions. By the way, you saw no need for an autopsy? Certainly not. The doctor became quite apolletic. The cause of death was clear, and in my profession

we see no need to stress unduly the relatives of a dead patient. And turning, the doctor slammed the door sharply in our faces. And what do you think of Dr. Bernard Hastings? inquired Poirot as we proceeded on our way to the manner. Rather an old ass. Exactly, your judgments of character are always profound, my friend. I glanced at him uneasily, but he seemed perfectly serious. A twinkle, however, came into his eye, and he added slowly,

that is to say, when there is no question of a beautiful, woman. I looked at him coldly. On our arrival at the manor house, the door was opened to us by a middle-aged parlour-maid. Poirot handed her his card and a letter from the insurance company for Mrs. Maltraverse. She showed us into a small morning room and retired to tell her mistress. About ten minutes elapsed, and the door opened and a slender figure in widow's weeds stood upon the threshold. Monsieur Poirot, she faltered, Madame, Poirot sprang gallantly to his feet, and hastened towards her.

I cannot tell you how I regret to derange you in this way, but what will you? La Refares, they know no mercy. Mrs. Maltraverse permitted him to lead her to a chair. Her eyes were red with weeping, but the temporary disfigurement could not conceal her extraordinary beauty, She was about 27 or 8, and very fair, with large blue eyes and a pretty pouting mouth. It is something about my husband's insurance, is it?

But must I be bothered now, so soon? Courage, my dear, madame, courage. You see, your late husband insured his life for a large sum. In such a case, the company always has to satisfy itself as to a few details. They have empowered me to act for them. You can rest assured that I will do in all my power to render the matter not too unpleasant for you. Will you recount to me briefly the sad events of Wednesday? I was changing for tea when the maid came up.

One of my gardeners has just run into the house. He had found, her voice trailed away. Poirot pressed her hand sympathetically. I comprehend enough. You have seen your husband earlier in the afternoon? Not since lunch. I'd walked down to the village for some stamps, and I believe he was pottering round the grounds.

Shooting Rooks, eh, yes, he usually took his little rifle with him. I heard one or two shots in the distance. Where is this little Rook rifle now? In the hall, I think, she led the way out of the room and found it. and handed the little weapon to Poirot, who examined it curiously. Two shots fired, I see, he observed as he handed it back.

And now, Madame, if I might see, he paused delicately. The servant shall take you, she murmured, averting her head. The parlour maid, summoned, led Poirot upstairs. I remained with a lovely and unfortunate woman. It was hard to know whether to see. speak or remain silent. I essayed one or two general reflections to which she responded absently, and in a few minutes, Poirot rejoined us. I thank you for all your courtesy, Madame. I do not think you need to be troubled any further with this matter. By the way, do you know anything

of your husband's financial position? She shook our head. Nothing whatever. I'm very stupid over business things. I see. Then you can give us no clue as to why he suddenly decided to ensure his life. He had not done so previously, I understand.

Well, we had only been married a little over a year, but as to why he ensured his life, it was because he had absolutely made up his mind that he would not live long. He had a strong premonition of his own death.

I gather he had one hemorrhage already, and that he knew that another would prove fatal. I tried to dispel these gloomy fears of his, but without avail, alas, he was only too right. With tears in her eyes, she bade us a dignified farewell. Varo made a characteristic gesture as we walked down the drive together. Ah bien, that is that.

Back to London, my friend, there appears to be no mouse in this mouse-hole, and yet Yet what A slight discrepancy that is all You noticed it You did not Still life is full of discrepancies

And assuredly the man Cannot have taken his own life There is no poison That would fill his mouth with blood No no I must resign myself to the fact That all here is clear and above board But who is this

A tall young man was striding up the drive towards us. He passed us without making any sound, but I noted that he was not ill-looking, with a lean, deeply bronzed face that spoke of life in a tropic climate. A gardener who was sweeping up leaves had paused for a minute in his task, and Poirre ran quickly up to him. Tell me, I pray, who is that gentleman? Do you know him? I don't remember his name, sir, though I did hear it. He was staying down here last week for a night. Tuesday it was. Quick, monomy, let us follow. We hastened up the drive after the retreating figure, a glimpse of a black-robed figure on the terrace at the side of the house, and our quarry swerved, and we after him, so that we were witnesses of the meeting.

Mrs. Maltraverse almost staggered where she stood, and her face blanched noticeably. She gasped. I thought you were on the sea. Are you on your way to East Africa? I got some news from my lawyers that detained me, explained the young man. My old uncle in Scotland died unexpectedly and left me some money. Under the circumstances, I thought it would be better to cancel my passage. Then I saw this bad news in the paper and I came down to see if there was anything I could do. you'll want someone to look after things for you, perhaps for a bit. At that moment they became aware of our presence.

Poirot stepped forward and with many apologies explained that he had left his stick in the hall. Rather reluctantly, it seemed to me, Mrs. Maltreberus made the necessary introduction. Monsieur Poirot, Captain Black, a few minutes chat ensued in the course of which Poirot elicited the fact the Captain Black was putting up at the anchor in. The missing stick, which had not been discovered, which was not surprising, Poirot uttered mere apologies, and we withdrew.

We returned to the village at a great pace, and Poirot made a beeline for the anchor in. Here we establish ourselves until our friend the captain returns, he explained. You notice that I emphasise the point that we were returning to London by the first train? Possibly you thought I meant it, but no, you observed Mrs. Maltravers' face when she caught sight of this young man called Black. She was clearly taken aback, and he, Aunt Pierre, he was very devoted. Did you not think so? And he was here on Tuesday night, the day before Mr. Maltravers died. We must investigate the doings of Captain Black Hastings.

In about half an hour, we espied our quarry of the quarry of. approaching the inn. Poirre went out and accosted him, and presently brought him up to the room we had engaged. I had been telling Captain Black of the mission which brings us here, he explained. You understand, Monsieur le Captain, that I am anxious to arrive at Mr. Maltrava's state of mind immediately before his death, and that at the same time I do not wish to distress Mrs. Maltravers, and duly by asking her painful questions. Now you are here just before the occurrence, and you can give us equally valuable information.

I'll do anything I can to help you, I'm sure, replied the young soldier, but I'm afraid I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. You see, although Maltravers was an old friend of my peoples, I don't know him very well myself. You came down when? Tuesday afternoon I went up to town early Wednesday morning

as I boat sailed from Tilbury about 12 o'clock but some news I got made me alter my plans as I dare say you heard me explained to Mrs. Maltravers You were returning to East Africa I understand

Yes I've been out there ever since the war A great country Exactly Now what was the talk About a dinner on Tuesday night Oh, I don't know, the usual odd topics. Maltravers asked after my people, and we discussed the question of German reparations.

And then, Mrs. Maltravers asked a lot of questions about East Africa. I told them one or two yarns, and that's all I think. Thank you. Guaro was silent for a moment. Then he said gently, With your permission, I should like to try a little experiment. You have told us all that. that your conscious self knows. I want to now question your subconscious self.

Psychoanalysis? What? said Black, with visible alarm. Oh no, said Poirot, reassuringly. You see, it is like this. I give you a word, your answer with another, and so on. Any word, the first one you think of. Shall we begin? All right, said Black, slowly, but he looked uneasy. Note down my words, please, Hastings, said Poirot, then he took from his pocket his big, turniped-faced watch and laid it on the table beside him. We will commence, day. There was a moment's pause, and then Black replied,

Night. As Poirot proceeded, his answers came quicker. Name, said Poirot, place. Bernard, sure. Tuesday, dinner. Journey, ship. Country, Uganda. Story, lions.

Rook rifle, farm. Shot, suicide. Elephant, tusks. Money, lawyers. Thank you, Captain Black. Perhaps you could spare me a few minutes in about half an hour's time. Certainly. The young soldier looked at him curiously and wiped his brow as he got up.

And now, Hastings, said Paro, smiling at me as the door closed behind him, you see it all, do you not? I do not know what you mean. Does the list of words tell you nothing? I scrutinised it, but forced to shake my head. I will assist you. To begin with, Black answered well within the normal time limit, with no pauses, so we can take it that he himself has no guilty knowledge to conceal.

Day to night and place to name are normal associations. I began work with Bernard, which might have suggested the local doctor had he come across him at all. Evidently he had not. After our recent conversation, he gave dinner to my Tuesday, but journey and country were answered by ship and Uganda. showing clearly that it was his journey abroad that was important to him, and not the one which brought him down here. Story recalls to him one of the lion's stories he told at dinner.

I proceed to Rook Rifle, and he answered with a totally unexpected word, Farm. When I say shot, he answers at once. Suicide. The association seems clear, a man he knows. committed suicide with a rook rifle on a farm somewhere. Remember too that his mind is still on the stories he told at dinner, and I think you will agree that I shall not be far from the truth

if I recall Captain Black and ask him to repeat the peculiar suicide story which he told at the dinner table on Tuesday evening. Black was straightforward enough over the matter. Yes, I did tell him that story. now, that I came to think of it. Chap shot himself on a farm out there, did it with a rook rifle, through the roof of the mouth, bullet lodged in the brain. Doctors were no end puzzled over it.

There was nothing to show except a little blood on the lips. But what? But what has it got to do with Mr. Maltravers? You do not know, I see, that he was found with a rook rifle by his side. You mean my story suggested to him? Oh, but that is awful. Do not distress yourself. It would have been one way or another.

Well, I must get on the telephone to London. Poirot had a lengthy conversation over the wire and came back thoughtfully. He went off by himself in the afternoon, and it was not until seven o'clock that he announced that he would put it off no longer, that he must break the news to the young widow. My sympathy had already gone out to her unreservedly. To be left penniless, and with the knowledge that her husband had killed himself, to assure her future, was a hard burden for any woman to bear.

I cherished a secret hope, however, that young Black might prove capable of consoling her after her first grief had passed. He evidently admired her enormously. This episode is brought to you by Best Fiends. want to have some fun playing a puzzle solving game that really engages your brain, then I can recommend the game Best Fees. It's a casual game for adults that anyone can play. It's like a mix of character collecting with bugs being your buddies and the enemies are slugs and it's a really fun puzzle game. I'm really enjoying playing the game and I'm still in the onymas oceans but will

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An examination of the body turned our suspicions into certainty. Poirot was very sorry for the poor lady, but after all, he was employed by the insurance company. And what could he do? as he was preparing to leave, he said gently to Mrs. Maltrowas Madame, you of all people should know that there are no dead. What do you mean? She faltered, her eyes growing wide.

Have you never taken part in any spiritualistic seances? You are mediumistic, you know. I have been told so, but you do not believe in spiritualism, surely. Madame, I have seen some strange things. You know they say in the village that the house is haunted? She nodded, and at that moment the parlour maid announced that dinner was ready. Won't you stay and have something to eat? We accepted gratefully, and I felt that our presence could not help but distract her a little from her own griefs.

We had finished our soup when there was a scream outside the door and the sound of breaking crockery. We jumped up, the parlour made appeared, her hand to her heart. It was a man standing in the passage. Poirot rushed out, returning quickly. There is no one there. Isn't there, sir? said the parlour made weakly. Oh, it did give me a start.

But why? She dropped her voice to a whisper. I thought, I thought it was the master. It looked like him. I saw Mrs. Maltravers give a terrible. terrified start, and my mind flew to the old superstition that a suicide cannot rest. She thought of it too, I'm sure. For a minute later, she caught Poirot's arm with a scream. Didn't you hear that? Those three taps on the window. That's how he always used to tap when he

passed around the house. The ivy, I cried. It was the ivy against the pain. But a sort of terror was gaining on his all. The parlor maid was so. obviously unstrung, and when the meal was over, Mrs Maltrava's besought Barrow not to go at once. She was clearly terrified to be left alone. We sat in the morning room, the wind was getting up and moaning around the house in an eerie fashion. Twice the door of the room came unlatched, and the door slowly opened, and each time she clung to me with a terrified gasp. Ah, but this door it is bewitched. cried Poirot, angrily at last. He got up and shot it once more,

and turned the key in the lock. I shall lock it so. Don't do that, she gasped, if it should come open now. And even as she spoke, the impossible happened. The lock door slowly swung open. I could see into the passage where I sat, but she and Poirro were facing it.

She gave one long shriek, She turned to him. I saw him. There, in the passage, she cried. He was staring down at her with a puzzled face, then shook his head. I saw him, my husband, you must have seen him too. Madame, I saw nothing. You are not well, and shrung.

I am perfectly well. I, oh God. Suddenly, without any warning, the lights quivered and went out. out of the darkness came three loud raps. I could hear Mrs. Mottravers moaning. And then I saw. The man I had seen on the bed upstairs stood there facing us, gleaming with a faint ghostly light.

There was blood on his lips, and he held his right hand out, pointing. Suddenly, a brilliant light seemed to proceed from it. It passed over Poirot and me, and fell on Mrs. Maltrave. I saw her white terrified face and something else. Oh my God, Poirot, I cried. Look at her hand. Her right hand is all red. Her own eyes fell upon it, and she collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Blood, she cried hysterically. Yes, it's blood. I killed him. I did it. He was showing me. And then I put my hand on the trigger and pressed. Save me. from him. Save me. He's come back. Her voice died away in a gurgle. Lights, said Poirot briskly.

The lights went on by magic. That's it, he continued. You heard Hastings, and you Everett? Oh, by the way, this is Mr. Everett, rather a fine member of the theatrical profession. I phoned him to come this afternoon. His makeup is good, isn't it? Quite like the dead man. and with a pocket torch and the necessary phosphorescence, he made the proper impression. I shouldn't touch her right now if I were you Hastings. Red paint marks so. When the lights went out, I clasp her hands, you see.

By the way, we mustn't miss our train. Inspector Jap is outside the window. A bad night, but he has been able to while away the time by tapping on the window every now and then. You see, continued point. as we walked briskly through the wind and the rain. There was a little discrepancy. The doctor seemed to think that the deceased was a Christian scientist.

And who could have given him that impression, but Mrs. Maltravers. But to worse, she represented him as being in a great state of apprehension about his own health. Again, why was she so taken aback by the reappearance of the young black? And lastly, although I know that, convention decrees that a woman must make a decent pretense of mourning for her husband, I do not care for such heavily rouged eyelids. You did not observe them, Hastings? No, as I always tell you, you see nothing.

Well, there it was. There were two possibilities. Did Black's story suggest an ingenious method of committing suicide to Mr. Maltravis? Or did his other listener, the wife? see an equally ingenious method of committing murder. I inclined to the latter view. To shoot himself in the way indicated, he probably would have had to pull the trigger with his toe,

or at least so, I imagine. Now, if Maltravis had been found with one boot off, we should almost certainly have heard it from someone. An odd detail like that would have been remembered. No, as I say, I inclined to the view that it was a case of murder, not suicide, but I realized that I had not a shadow of proof in support of my theory,

hence the elaborate little comedy you saw played tonight. Even now, I don't quite see all the details of the crime, I said. Let us start from the beginning. Here is a shrewd and scheming woman, who, knowing me of her husband's financial debacle and tired of the elderly mate she is only married for his money, induces him to ensure his life for a large sum,

and then seeks for the means to accomplish her purpose. An accident gives her that. The young soldier's strange story. The next afternoon, the Monsieur le Capitaine, as she thinks is on the high seas, she and her husband are strolling round the grounds. What a curious story that was last night, she observes. Could a man shoot himself in such a way?

do show me if it is possible. The poor fool he shows her, he places the end of the rifle in his mouth. She stoops down and puts her finger on the trigger, laughing at him. And now, sir, she says saucily, supposedly I pull the trigger. And then, and then Hastings. She pulls it.