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"What sort of things?"
"Mostly birds and squirrels. Birds are very quarrelsome, aren't they? Not like in the bit of poetry that
says 'birds in their little nests agree'. They don't really, do they? And I watch squirrels."
"And you watch people?"
"Sometimes. But there aren't many people who come here."
"Why not, I wonder?"
"I suppose they are afraid."
"Why should they be afraid?"
"Because someone was killed here long ago. Before it was a garden, I mean. It was a quarry once and
then there was a gravel pile or a sand pile and that's where they found her. Do you think the old saying
is true - About you're born to be hanged or born to be drowned?"
"Nobody is born to be hanged nowadays. You do not hang people any longer in this country."
"But they are hanging them in some other countries. They hang them in the streets. I've read it in the
papers."
"Ah. Do you think that is a good thing or a bad thing?"
Miranda's response was not strictly in answer to the question, but Poirot felt that it was perhaps meant to
be.
"Joyce was drowned," she said. "Mummy didn't want to tell me, but that was rather silly, I think, don't
you? I mean, I'm twelve years old."
"Was Joyce a friend of yours?"
"Yes. She was a great friend in a way. She told me very interesting things sometimes. All about
elephants and rajahs. She'd been to India once. I wish I'd been to India. Joyce and I used to tell each
other all our secrets. I haven't so much to tell as Mummy. Mummy's been to Greece, you know. That's
where she met Aunt Ariadne, but she didn't take me."
"Who told you about Joyce?"
"Mrs Perring. She's our cook. She was talking to Mrs Minden who comes and cleans. Someone held her
head down in a bucket of water."
"Have you any idea who that someone was?"
"I shouldn't think so. They didn't seem to know, but then they're both rather stupid really."
"Do you know, Miranda?"
"I wasn't there. I had a sore throat and a temperature so Mummy wouldn't take me to the party. But I
think I could know. Because she was drowned. That's why I asked if you thought people were born to be
drowned. We go through the hedge here. Be careful of your clothes."
Poirot followed her lead. The entrance through the hedge from the Quarry Garden was more suited to
the build of his childish guide with her elfin slimness it was practically a highway to her. She was
solicitous for Poirot, however, warning him of adjacent thorn bushes and holding back the more prickly
components of the hedge. They emerged at a spot in the garden adjacent to a compost heap and turned a
corner by a derelict cucumber frame to where two dustbins stood. From there on a small neat garden
mostly planted with roses gave easy access to the small bungalow house. Miranda led the way through
an open French window, announcing with the modest pride of a collector who has just secured a sample
of a rare beetle: "I've got him all right."
"Miranda, you didn't bring him through the hedge, did you? You ought to have gone round by the path
at the side gate."
"This is a better way," said Miranda. "Quicker and shorter." "And much more painful, I suspect."
"I forget," said Mrs Oliver "I did introduce you, didn't I, to my friend Mrs Butler?"
"Of course. In the post office."
The introduction in question had been a matter of a few moments while there had been a queue in front
of the counter.
Poirot was better able now to study Mrs Oliver's friend at close quarters. Before it had been a matter of
a slim woman in a disguising head-scarf and a mackintosh.
Judith Butler was a woman of about thirty-five, and whilst her daughter resembled a dryad or a wood-
nymph, Judith had more the attributes of a water spirit. She could have been a Rhine maiden. Her long
blonde hair hung limply on her shoulders, she was delicately made with a rather long face and faintly
hollow cheeks, whilst above them were big sea green eyes fringed with long eyelashes.
"I'm very glad to thank you properly, Monsieur Poirot," said Mrs Butler. "It was very good of you to
come down here when Ariadne asked you."
"When my friend, Mrs Oliver, asks me to do anything I always have to do it," said Poirot.
"What nonsense," said Mrs Oliver.
"She was sure, quite sure, that you would be able to find out all about this beastly thing. Miranda, dear,
will you go into the kitchen? You'll find the scones on the wire tray above the oven."
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