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Authors: Agatha Christie
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there. She didn't know his name. But she knew
him by sight well. Good-looking - oh, very good-looking, and always so nicely dressed.
Clearly, there was a tinge of jealousy in Miss Higley's voice.
In the end it boiled down to this. Elizabeth Barnard had not confided in any one in the caf
Ž
as to her plans for the evening, but in Miss Higley's opinion she had been going to meet
her “friend.” She had had on a new white dress, “ever so sweet with one of the new necks.”
We had a word with each of the other two girls but with no further results. Betty Barnard
had not said anything as to her plans and no one had noticed her in Bexhill during the
course of the evening.
The A B C Murders
Chapter 10
THE BARNARDS
Elizabeth Barnard's parents lived in a minute bungalow, one of fifty or so recently run up
by a speculative builder on the confines of the town. The name of it was Llandudno.
Mr. Barnard, a stout, bewildered-looking man of fifty-five or so, had noticed our approach
and was standing waiting in the doorway.
“Come in, gentlemen,” he said.
Inspector Kelsey took the initiative.
“This is Inspector Crome of Scotland Yard, sir,” he said. “He's come down to help us over
this business.”
“Scotland Yard?” said Mr. Barnard hopefully. “That's good. This murdering villain's got to
be laid by the heels. My poor little girl -”
His face was distorted by a spasm of grief.
“And this is Mr. Hercule Poirot, also from London, and er -”
“Captain Hastings,” said Poirot.
“Pleased to meet you, gentlemen,” said Mr. Barnard mechanically. “Come into the snuggery.
I don't know that my poor wife's up to seeing you. All broken up, she is.”
However, by the time that we were ensconced in the living-room of the bungalow, Mrs.
Barnard had made her appearance. She had evidently been crying bitterly, her eyes were
reddened and she walked with the uncertain gait of a person who had had a great shock.
“Why, Mother, that's fine,” said Mr. Barnard. “You're sure you're all right - eh?”
He patted her shoulder and draw her down into a chain.
“The superintendent was very kind,” said Mr. Barnard. “After he'd broken the news to us,
he said he'd leave any questions till later when we'd got over the first shock.”
“It is too cruel. Oh, it is too cruel,” cried Mrs. Barnard tearfully. “The cruelest thing
that ever was, it is.”
Her voice had a faintly sing-song intonation that I thought for a moment was foreign till
I remembered the name on the gate and realized that the “effer wass” of her speech was in
reality proof of her Welsh origin.
“It's very painful, madam, I know,” said Inspector Crome. “And we've every sympathy for
you, but we want to know all the facts we can so as to get to work as quick as possible.”
“That's sense, that is,” said Mr. Barnard, nodding approval.
“Your daughter was twenty-three, I understand. She lived here with you and worked at the
Ginger Cat caf
Ž
, is that right?”
“That's it.”
“This is a new place, isn't it? Where did you live before?”
“I was in the ironmongery business in Kennington. Retired two years ago. Always meant to
live near the sea.”
“You have two daughters?”
“Yes. My elder daughter works in an office in London in the City.”
“Weren't you alarmed when your daughter didn't come home last night?”
“We didn't know she hadn't,” said Mrs. Barnard tearfully. “Dad and I always go to bed
early. Nine o'clock's our time. We never knew Betty hadn't come home till the police
officer came and said - and said -”
She broke down.
“Was your daughter in the habit of - er - returning home late?”
“You know what girls are nowadays, inspector,” said Barnard. “Independent, that's what
they are. These summer evenings they're not going to rush home. All the same, Betty was
usually in by eleven.”
“How
him by sight well. Good-looking - oh, very good-looking, and always so nicely dressed.
Clearly, there was a tinge of jealousy in Miss Higley's voice.
In the end it boiled down to this. Elizabeth Barnard had not confided in any one in the caf
Ž
as to her plans for the evening, but in Miss Higley's opinion she had been going to meet
her “friend.” She had had on a new white dress, “ever so sweet with one of the new necks.”
We had a word with each of the other two girls but with no further results. Betty Barnard
had not said anything as to her plans and no one had noticed her in Bexhill during the
course of the evening.
The A B C Murders
Chapter 10
THE BARNARDS
Elizabeth Barnard's parents lived in a minute bungalow, one of fifty or so recently run up
by a speculative builder on the confines of the town. The name of it was Llandudno.
Mr. Barnard, a stout, bewildered-looking man of fifty-five or so, had noticed our approach
and was standing waiting in the doorway.
“Come in, gentlemen,” he said.
Inspector Kelsey took the initiative.
“This is Inspector Crome of Scotland Yard, sir,” he said. “He's come down to help us over
this business.”
“Scotland Yard?” said Mr. Barnard hopefully. “That's good. This murdering villain's got to
be laid by the heels. My poor little girl -”
His face was distorted by a spasm of grief.
“And this is Mr. Hercule Poirot, also from London, and er -”
“Captain Hastings,” said Poirot.
“Pleased to meet you, gentlemen,” said Mr. Barnard mechanically. “Come into the snuggery.
I don't know that my poor wife's up to seeing you. All broken up, she is.”
However, by the time that we were ensconced in the living-room of the bungalow, Mrs.
Barnard had made her appearance. She had evidently been crying bitterly, her eyes were
reddened and she walked with the uncertain gait of a person who had had a great shock.
“Why, Mother, that's fine,” said Mr. Barnard. “You're sure you're all right - eh?”
He patted her shoulder and draw her down into a chain.
“The superintendent was very kind,” said Mr. Barnard. “After he'd broken the news to us,
he said he'd leave any questions till later when we'd got over the first shock.”
“It is too cruel. Oh, it is too cruel,” cried Mrs. Barnard tearfully. “The cruelest thing
that ever was, it is.”
Her voice had a faintly sing-song intonation that I thought for a moment was foreign till
I remembered the name on the gate and realized that the “effer wass” of her speech was in
reality proof of her Welsh origin.
“It's very painful, madam, I know,” said Inspector Crome. “And we've every sympathy for
you, but we want to know all the facts we can so as to get to work as quick as possible.”
“That's sense, that is,” said Mr. Barnard, nodding approval.
“Your daughter was twenty-three, I understand. She lived here with you and worked at the
Ginger Cat caf
Ž
, is that right?”
“That's it.”
“This is a new place, isn't it? Where did you live before?”
“I was in the ironmongery business in Kennington. Retired two years ago. Always meant to
live near the sea.”
“You have two daughters?”
“Yes. My elder daughter works in an office in London in the City.”
“Weren't you alarmed when your daughter didn't come home last night?”
“We didn't know she hadn't,” said Mrs. Barnard tearfully. “Dad and I always go to bed
early. Nine o'clock's our time. We never knew Betty hadn't come home till the police
officer came and said - and said -”
She broke down.
“Was your daughter in the habit of - er - returning home late?”
“You know what girls are nowadays, inspector,” said Barnard. “Independent, that's what
they are. These summer evenings they're not going to rush home. All the same, Betty was
usually in by eleven.”
“How
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