The ABC Murders

Poirot invites Hastings and the others to Bexhill. He visits the Barnards to confirm that Mrs. Barnard met Cust, the hotel where Cust stayed, and the beach where Betty died, noticing where cars could park and the closest bus stop. They return to the Ginger Cat cafe, where Poirot shocks Hastings by flirting with Milly Higley, Betty’s coworker. Poirot has not broken the alibi, so Franklin is confused why Poirot seems contented. Poirot invites the everyone to tea and asks them to play a game where he asks each a question.

He asks Franklin Clarke what he thought of the hats at the Ascot horse races, and Clarke reports the hats were ostentatious as usual. He asks Donald Fraser when his annual vacation was, and Fraser reports it took place in early August. He asks Thora Grey, in a voice Hastings describes as “tightened up” if she would have married Carmichael Clarke after his wife’s death (230). Thora is offended, protesting she thought of her employer like a father before finally declaring she would not have. He asks Megan if she wants him to solve the case, and she answers, loudly, in the negative, impressing Poirot with her forthrightness. He asks Mary Drower if she has a boyfriend, and she demurs. Finally, he announces that he and Hastings will depart on an errand for Eastbourne.

They hear children singing about trapping foxes, which causes Poirot to reflect on fox hunting, then a popular pastime of the British upper classes. Poirot says that while the hunt is cruel, to trap a fox and “never let him go” would be crueler still (233). Poirot informs Hastings the Eastbourne trip is unnecessary and that they will see Cust tomorrow.

Hastings recounts that while Poirot was able to visit Cust with government authorization, Hastings himself was not permitted. Hastings assures the reader that Poirot did provide him with an exhaustive account, and goes on. Poirot sits in silence, and then asks Cust if he recognizes him. Cust does not, assuming he is a lawyer. When Poirot declares his identity, Cust denies writing the letters, citing a “conspiracy” that has been after him his whole life (236). Cust further explains that his mother gave him his grandiose name out of ambition.

Cust recounts how he soon disappointed her. He was unpopular at school and not adept at studying, though he found his wartime service an equalizer. He regrets his discharge and that his clerical career failed in the depression, forcing him to take work selling stockings. Poirot reminds Cust that the firm he says employed him denies it and that the letters were typed on his own typewriter. Cust insists this is a conspiracy and that he knows nothing of the railway guides. He visited Alice Ascher only because “one has to begin somewhere” (239).

Poirot attempts to break Cust’s alibi, suggesting that the obstinate Mr. Strange mixed up the date and is not admitting it. Cust recalls the game of dominoes and another game he played once with a stranger who read his palm, predicting that he would be famous but also die violently, perhaps “on the scaffold” (240). Cust, frightened, admits that his epilepsy causes him to forget things. Poirot asks if he is certain he committed the murders, and Cust says yes—but he has no idea why.

The chapter opens in medias res, with Poirot in the process of explaining his conclusions to Hastings and the family members of the victims. He explains that mental health alone is not a solution and that the key was “to imagine a mind so constituted that it was logical and reasonable to commit four or more murders and to announce them beforehand by letters written to Hercule Poirot’” (243). Poirot regrets discounting his unease at the first letter, noting that this unease was not mere emotion but based in his long practice as a detective. The motive for the letters remained key.

Megan Barnard asks if “blood lust” is the motivation, but Poirot points out that such a killer does not take pains to hide his identity or leave clues, especially clues which point information away from likelier suspects like Franz Ascher and Donald Fraser. Poirot notes that the alphabet scheme suggested order, but the lack of links between victims does not. Poirot admits he did attach significance to the railway guide, as “the choice of the A B C suggested to me what I may call a railway-minded man” with childlike preoccupations (246).

Betty Barnard’s death suggested that the killer must have been a handsome man, able to attract her. The stockings provided a useful lead, and Cust was soon apprehended after Doncaster. Poirot, however, admits he is still without clues as to motive, and Cust’s alibi for the second murder is another problem. Megan Barnard interrupts when Poirot suggests Cust committed all the murders except Betty’s, insisting this cannot be possible. Poirot reminds her that this might explain how Cust—too shy to have ever approached a girl with success—committed all the murders but one.

Except, Poirot continues, that Betty’s killer must have known about the railway guide found at Andover and that fact was not yet public knowledge. Donald Fraser posits police involvement, but Poirot argues, instead, that Cust is innocent and the killer is someone else entirely. This leads Poirot to examine the letters, and he determines that his initial hypothesis was wrong. It is not that the killer had a mental health condition, but rather that, “They were wrong as a picture is wrong—because they were a fake! They pretended to be the letters of a madman—of a homicidal lunatic, but in reality they were nothing of the kind” (251). This too, was part of a greater ruse, a murderer concealing a single crime by making it part of a series. As Poirot puts it, “When do you notice a pin least? When it is in a pincushion! When do you notice an individual murder least? When it is one of a series of related murders” (251).

The real killer took on the guise of a serially murdering “maniac” to conceal his personal investment in murdering one of the victims. This leads directly to Franklin Clarke, who Poirot describes as confident, able to flirt with Betty, and “the methodical tabular mind—he made a list here one day, ticked off over the headings A B C—and finally, the boyish mind—mentioned by Lady Clarke and even shown by his taste in fiction—I have ascertained that there is a book in the library called The Railway Children by E. Nesbit” (253).

Franklin’s motive, Poirot asserts, is quite clear. He wished to inherit his brother’s fortune, and any marriage between his brother and Thora would prevent this because the marriage might produce heirs. Franklin, Poirot says, was correct that Thora was ambitious enough to accept such a proposal. He met Cust—Franklin was the man who read his palm—and the scheme was born. Franklin wrote the letters giving Cust his assignments selling stockings and then sent him that same typewriter.

Then, Franklin suggested his victims, likely killing Betty Barnard the day before the advertised date. The third letter implicates him still further, as it was misaddressed and arrived well after Sir Carmichael died. Hastings was correct that the letter was misaddressed deliberately. Poirot says,

the letters were sent to me because the essence of your plan was that one of them should be wrongly addressed and go astray—but you cannot arrange for a letter addressed to the Criminal Investigation Department of Scotland Yard to go astray! (257).

Poirot was famous enough the letters would be made public, and the postal error insured Franklin’s most important task was accomplished without notice.

Finally, the fourth murder occurs so that Cust can be set up properly, as up to that point he had escaped observation in any of the other towns. Franklin murdered a random moviegoer he found, then made sure to collide with Cust so that he would have the knife. Cust, a person with a mental health history, decides based on this evidence and his presence in the other towns that he himself must be guilty. Cust’s personality, lack of motive, and lack of recognition of Poirot convinces him that the culprit is someone else.

Poirot then explains gathering evidence against Franklin: a wooden stick with metal poured in found in a cupboard at the Clarke residence, witness testimony finding him at the cinema, and Milly Higley and a waitress at a local restaurant both identify him as a man seen with Betty Barnard. Poirot further asserts Franklin left a fingerprint on Cust’s typewriter.

Franklin admits to the crime, attempts to shoot himself, and finds the gun empty. When Poirot explains this was his servant’s doing, on his orders, Franklin “purple with rage” is arrested, and Poirot gets the last word: “You are very full of an insular superiority, but for myself I consider your crime not an English crime at all—not aboveboard—not sporting—” (261-62).

Hastings laughs, taken by Poirot’s words, but Poirot reiterates that it was remarkably cruel of Clarke to condemn Cust to death, mentioning the fox hunt rhyme again. Megan Barnard is especially relieved, and Poirot explains to Donald that Megan feared he had killed Betty. When Donald explained he had once feared this too, Poirot finally explains Donald’s dream to him. Donald is in love with Megan, and the dream represents his guilt for changing his affections so soon.

Poirot then explains the questions he had asked them all. Some were simply for the sake of the game, while his question to Franklin established that he was in London during the murders. His question to Thora unmasked Franklin’s rage, for it revealed his motive. Poirot informs Hastings the tale of the fateful fingerprint was his invention, solely to please his clue-loving friend.

Hastings recalls yet another meeting with Cust, who is now famous and has been offered money for his memoirs. Cust is cheered when Poirot suggests he demand the highest price possible, and Poirot suggests Cust needs new glasses, as that will solve his headaches. The narrative concludes as Cust calls Poirot “a very great man” and Hastings reports:

Poirot, as usual, did not disdain the compliment. He did not even succeed in looking modest. When Mr. Cust had strutted importantly out, my old friend smiled across at me. ‘So, Hastings—we went hunting once more, did we not? Vive le sport’ (265-66).