Mr. Fullerton might think he had a fairly shrewd idea of who had committed that homicide, but he was not so sure as he would like to be, because there were at least three claimants in the matter. Any one of three young ne'er-do-wells might have done it. Words floated through his head. Mentally retarded. Psychiatrist's report. That's how the whole matter would end, no doubt. All the same, to drown a child during a party that was rather a different cup of tea from one of the innumerable school children who did not arrive home and who had accepted a lift in a car after having been repeatedly warned not to do so, and who had been found in a nearby copse or gravel pit. A gravel pit now. When was that? Many, many years ago now.

All this took about four minutes' time and Mr. Fullerton then cleared his throat in a slightly asthmatic fashion, and spoke.

"Monsieur Hercule Poirot," he said again.

"What can I do for you? I suppose it's the business of this young girl, Joyce Reynolds. Nasty business, very nasty business. I can't see actually where I can assist you. I know very little about it all."

"But you are, I believe, the legal adviser to the Drake family?"

"Oh yes, yes. Hugo Drake, poor chap.

Very nice fellow. I've known them for years, ever since they bought Apple Trees and came here to live. Sad thing, polio-he contracted it when they were holidaying abroad one year. Mentally, of course, his health was quite unimpaired. It's sad when it happens to a man who has been a good athlete all his life, a sportsman, good at games and all the rest of it. Yes. Sad business to know you're a cripple for life."

"You were also, I believe, in charge of the legal affairs of Mrs.

LlewellynSmythe?"

"The aunt, yes. Remarkable woman really. She came here to live after her health broke down, so as to be near her nephew and his wife. Bought that White Elephant of a place. Quarry House. Paid far more than it was worth-but money was no object to her. She was very well off. She could have found a more attractive house, but it was the quarry itself that fascinated her. Got a landscape gardener on to it, fellow quite high up in his profession, I believe. One of those handsome, long-haired chaps, but he had ability all right. He did well for himself in this quarry garden work. Got himself quite a reputation over it, illustrated in Homes and Gardens and all the rest of it. Yes, Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe knew how to pick people. It wasn't just a question of a handsome young man as a protege. Some elderly women are foolish that way, but this chap had brains and was at the top of his profession. But I'm wandering on a bit. Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe died nearly two years ago."

"Quite suddenly."

Fullerton looked at Poirot sharply.

"Well, no, I wouldn't say that. She had a heart condition and doctors tried to keep her from doing too much, but she was the sort of woman that you couldn't dictate to.

She wasn't a hypochondriac type." He coughed and said, "But I expect we are getting away from the subject about which you came to talk to me."

"Not really," said Poirot, "although I would like, if I may, to ask you a few questions on a completely different matter.

Some information about one of your employees, by name Lesley Ferrier."

Mr. Fullerton looked somewhat surprised.

"Lesley Ferrier?" he said.

"Lesley Ferrier. Let me see. Really, you know, I'd nearly forgotten his name. Yes, yes, of course. Got himself knifed, didn't he?"

"That is the man I mean."

"Well, I don't really know that I can tell you much about him. It took place some time ago. Knifed near the Green Swan one night. No arrest was ever made. I daresay the police had some idea who was responsible, but it was mainly, I think, a matter of getting evidence."

"The motive was emotional?" inquired Poirot.

"Oh yes, I should certainly think so.

Jealousy, you know. He'd been going steady with a married woman. Her husband had a pub. The Green Swan at Woodleigh Common. Unpretentious place.

Then it seems young Lesley started playing around with another young woman -or more than one, it was said. Quite a one for the girls, he was. There was a bit of trouble once or twice."

"You were satisfied with him as an employee?"

"I would rather describe it as not dissatisfied. He had his points. He handled clients well and was studying for his articles, and if only he'd paid more attention to his position and keeping up a good standard of behaviour, it would have been better instead of mixing himself up with one girl after another, most of whom I am apt in my old-fashioned way to consider as considerably beneath him in station.

There was a row one night at the Green Swan, and Lesley Ferrier was knifed on his way home."

"Was one of the girls responsible, or would it be Mrs. Green Swan, do you think?"

"Really, it is not a case of knowing anything definite. I believe the police considered it was a case of jealousy but " He shrugged his shoulders.

"But you are not sure?"

"Oh, it happens," said Mrs. Fullerton.

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.9 That is always being quoted in Court. Sometimes it's true."

"But I think I discern that you yourself are not at all sure that that was the case here."

"Well, I should have preferred rather more evidence, shall we say. The police would have preferred rather more evidence, too. Public prosecutor threw it out, I believe."

"It could have been something quite different?"

"Oh yes. One could propound several theories. Not a very stable character, young Ferrier. Well brought up. Nice mother-a widow.

Father not so satisfactory.

Got himself out of several scrapes by the skin of his teeth. Hard luck on his wife. Our young man in some ways resembled his father. He was associated once or twice with rather a doubtful crowd. I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

He was young still. But I warned him that he was getting himself mixed up with the wrong lot. Too closely connected with fiddling transactions outside the law.

Frankly, but for his mother, I wouldn't have kept him. He was young, and he had ability; I gave him a warning or two which I hoped might do the trick. But there's a lot of corruption about these days. It's been on the increase for the last ten years."

"Someone might have had it in for him, you think?"

"Quite possible. These associations-gangs is a rather melodramatic word but you run a certain danger when you get tangled up with them.

Any idea that you may split on them, and a knife between your shoulder blades isn't an uncommon thing to happen."

"Nobody saw it happen?"

"No. Nobody saw it happen. They wouldn't, of course. Whoever took the job on would have all the arrangements nicely made. Alibi at the proper place and time, and so on and so on."

"Yet somebody might have seen it happen. Somebody quite unlikely. A child, for instance."

"Late at night? In the neighbourhood of the Green Swan? Hardly a very credible idea. Monsieur Poirot."

"A child," persisted Poirot, "who might remember. A child coming home from a friend's house. At some short distance, perhaps, from her own home. She might have been coming by a footpath or seen something from behind a hedge."

"Really, Monsieur Poirot, what an imagination you have got. What you are saying seems to me most unlikely."

"It does not seem so unlikely to me," said Poirot.

"Children do see things. They are so often, you see, not expected to be where they are."

"But surely when they go home and relate what they have seen?"

"They might not," said Poirot.

"They might not, you see, be sure what they had seen. Especially if what they had seen had been faintly frightening to them. Children do not always go home and report a street accident they have seen, or some unexpected violence. Children keep their secrets very well. Keep them and think about them. Sometimes they like to feel that they know a secret, a secret which they are keeping for themselves."