Four-and-Twenty Blackbirds: A Hercule Poirot Short Story

‘The world’s a funny place. See that odd-looking old fellow with a beard in the corner? Molly’ll tell you he’s always here Tuesdays and Thursday nights. He has come here for close on ten years now – he’s a kind of landmark in the place. Yet nobody here knows his name or where he lives or what his business is. It’s odd when you come to think of it.’

When the waitress brought the portions of turkey he said:

‘I see you’ve still got Old Father Time over there?’

‘That’s right, sir. Tuesdays and Thursdays, his days are. Not but what he came in here on a Monday last week! It quite upset me! I felt I’d got my dates wrong and that it must be Tuesday without my knowing it! But he came in the next night as well – so the Monday was just a kind of extra, so to speak.’

‘An interesting deviation from habit,’ murmured Poirot. ‘I wonder what the reason was?’

‘Well, sir, if you ask me, I think he’d had some kind of upset or worry.’

‘Why did you think that? His manner?’

‘No, sir – not his manner exactly. He was very quiet as he always is. Never says much except good evening when he comes and goes. No, it was his order.’

‘His order?’

‘I dare say you gentlemen will laugh at me,’ Molly flushed up, ‘but when a gentleman has been here for ten years, you get to know his likes and dislikes. He never could bear suet pudding or blackberries and I’ve never known him take thick soup – but on that Monday night he ordered thick tomato soup, beefsteak and kidney pudding and blackberry tart! Seemed as though he just didn’t notice what he ordered!’

‘Do you know,’ said Hercule Poirot, ‘I find that extraordinarily interesting.’

Molly looked gratified and departed.

‘Well, Poirot,’ said Henry Bonnington with a chuckle. ‘Let’s have a few deductions from you. All in your best manner.’