Agatha Christie The Hollow Chapter I At 6:13 a.m. ... - bzelbublive.info

complex--that is to say, we were contending against a mind capable of intricate andingenious inventions, so that every time we seemed to be heading for the truth, wewereactually being led on a trail that twisted away 1 from the truth and led us to apoint which --ended in nothingness. This apparent futility, this continual barrenness, isnot real --it is artificial, it is planned. A very subtle and ingenious mind is plottingagainst us the whole time--and succeeding." "Well?" said Henrietta. "What hasthat to do with me?" "The mind that is plotting against us is a creative mind.Mademoiselle." "I see--that's where I come in?" She was silent, her lips set togetherbitterly. From her jacket pocket she had taken a pencil and now she was idlydrawing the outline of a fantastic tree on the white painted wood of the bench,frowning downas she did so. Poirot watched her. Something stirred in his mind--standing inLady AngkatelFs drawing-room on the afternoon of the crime, looking down at a pileof bridge markers, standing by a painted iron table in the pavilion the next morningand a question that he had put to Gudgeon. He said: "That is what you drewon your bridge marker--a tree." "Yes." Henrietta seemed suddenly aware ofwhat she was doing. "Ygdrasil, M. Poirot." She laughed. "Why do you call itYgdrasil?" She explained the origin of Ygdrasil. "And so--when you 'doodle' (thatis the word 5 is it not?)--it is always Ygdrasil you draw?""Yes. Doodling is a funny thing, isn't it?" "Here on the seat ... on the bridgemarker on Saturday evening ... in the pavilion on Sunday morning ..." The handthat held the pencil stiffened and stopped. She said in a tone of carelessamusement: "In the pavilion?" "Yes, on the round iron table there." "Oh,that must have been on--on Saturday afternoon." "It was not on Saturdayafternoon. When Gudgeon brought the glasses out to the pavilion about twelveo'clock on Sunday morning, there was nothing drawn on the table. I asked him and heis quite definite about that." "Then it must have been"--she hesitatedfor just a moment--"of course, on Sunday afternoon." But, still smilingpleasantly, Hercule Poirot shook his head. "I think not. Grange's men were at thepool all Sunday afternoon, photographing the body, getting the revolver out of thewater. They did not leave until dusk. They would have seen anyone go into the pavilion."Henrietta said slowly: "I remember now--I went along there quite late in theevening--after dinner--" Poirot's voice came sharply: "People do not 'doodle' in thedark, Miss Savernake. Are you telling me that you went into the pavilion at nightand stood by a table and drew a tree without being able to seewhat you were drawing?" Henrietta said calmly: "I am telling you the truth.Naturally, you don't believe it. You have your own ideas-- What is your idea, bythe way?" "I am suggesting that you were in the pavilion on Sunday morning aftertwelve o'clock when Gudgeon brought the glasses out. That you stood by that tablewatching someone, or waiting for someone, and unconsciously took out a pencil and