Free Dead Man's Folly by Agatha Christie Page A

smile of welcome to the same young Italian woman whom he had driven off that morning and who was clearly puzzled at his change of attitude.
    He went on his way to the tennis court. But there was no one there but an old gentleman of military aspect who was fast asleep on a garden seat with his hat pulled over his eyes. Poirot retraced his steps to the house and went on down to the camellia garden.
    In the camellia garden Poirot found Mrs Oliver dressed in purple splendour, sitting on a garden seat in a brooding attitude, and looking rather like Mrs Siddons. She beckoned him to the seat beside her.
    “This is only the second clue,” she hissed. “I think I've made them too difficult. Nobody's come yet.”
    At this moment a young man in shorts, with a prominent Adam's apple, entered the garden. With a cry of satisfaction he hurried to a tree in one corner and a further satisfied cry announced his discovery of the next clue. Passing them, he felt impelled to communicate his satisfaction.
    “Lots of people don't know about cork trees,” he said confidentially. “Clever photograph, the first clue, but I spotted what it was - section of a tennis net. There was a poison bottle, empty, and a cork. Most of 'em will go all out after the bottle clue - I guessed it was a red herring. Very delicate, cork trees, only hardy in this part of the world. I'm interested in rare shrubs and trees. Now where does one go, I wonder?”
    He frowned over the entry in the notebook he carried.
    “I've copied the next clue but it doesn't seem to make sense.” He eyed them suspiciously. “You competing?”
    “Oh, no,” said Mrs Oliver. “We're just - looking on.”
    “Righty-ho... 'When lovely woman stoops to folly.'... I've an idea I've heard that somewhere.”
    “It is a well-known quotation,” said Poirot.
    “A Folly can also be a building,” said Mrs Oliver helpfully. “White - with pillars,” she added.
    “That's an idea! Thanks a lot. They say Mrs Ariadne Oliver is down here herself somewhere about. I'd like to get her autograph. You haven't seen her about, have you?”
    “No,” said Mrs Oliver firmly.
    “I'd like to meet her. Good yarns she writes.” He lowered his voice. “But they say she drinks like a fish.”
    He hurried off and Mrs Oliver said indignantly:
    “Really! That's most unfair when I only like lemonade!”
    “And have you not just perpetrated the great unfairness in helping that young man towards the next clue?”
    “Considering he's the only one who's got here so far, I thought he ought to be encouraged.”
    “But you wouldn't give him your autograph.”
    “That's different,” said Mrs Oliver. “Sh! Here come some more.”
    But these were not clue hunters. They were two women who having paid for admittance were determined to get their money's worth by seeing the grounds thoroughly.
    They were hot and dissatisfied.
    “You'd think they'd have some nice flower-beds,” said one to the other. “Nothing but trees and more trees. It's not what I call a garden.”
    Mrs Oliver nudged Poirot, and they slipped quietly away.
    “Supposing,” said Mrs Oliver distractedly, “that nobody ever finds my body?”
    “Patience, Madame, and courage,” said Poirot. “The afternoon is still young.”
    “That's true,” said Mrs Oliver brightening. “And it's half-price admission after four-thirty, so probably lots of people will flock in. Let's go and see how that Marlene child is getting on. I don't really trust that girl, you know. No sense of responsibility. I wouldn't put it past her to sneak away quietly, instead of being a corpse, and go and have tea. You know what people are like about their teas.”
    They proceeded amicably along the woodland path and Poirot commented on the geography of the property.
    “I find it very confusing,” he said. “So many paths, and one is never sure where they lead. And trees, trees everywhere.”
    “You sound like that disgruntled woman we've just left.”
    They passed the