第 18 页

He went now to fetch his overcoat and a couple of scarves, and thus padded against the North Country air he went out on the terrace and joined Helen Abernethie, who was clipping some late roses.

"Have you found out anything fresh?" she asked.

"Nothing. But I hardly expected to do so."

"I know. Ever since Mr Entwhistle told me you were coming, I've been ferreting round, but there's really been nothing."

She paused and said hopefully:

"Perhaps it is all a mare's nest?"

"To be attacked with a hatchet?"

"I wasn't thinking of Cora."

"But it is of Cora that I think. Why was it necessary for someone to kill her? Mr Entwhistle has told me that on that day, at the moment that she came out suddenly with her gaffe, you yourself felt that something was wrong. That is so?"

"Well - yes, but I don't know -"

Poirot swept on.

"How 'wrong'? Unexpected? Surprising? Or - what shall we say - uneasy? Sinister?"

"Oh no, not sinister. Just something that wasn't - oh, I don't know. I can't remember and it wasn't important."

"But why cannot you remember - because something else put it out of your head - something more important?"

"Yes - yes - I think you're right there. It was the mention of murder, I suppose. That swept away everything else."

"It was, perhaps, the reaction of some particular person to the word 'murder'?"

"Perhaps... But I don't remember looking at anyone in particular. We were all staring at Cora."

"It may have been something you heard - something dropped perhaps... or broken..."

Helen frowned in an effort of remembrance.

"No... I don't think so..."

"Ah well, someday it will come back. And it may be of no consequence. Now tell me, Madame, of those here, who knew Cora best?"

Helen considered.

"Lanscombe, I suppose. He remembers her from a child. The housemaid, Janet, only came after she had married and gone away."

"And next to Lanscombe?"

Helen said thoughtfully: "I suppose - I did. Maude hardly knew her at all."

"Then, taking you as the person who knew her best, why do you think she asked that question as she did?"

Helen smiled.

"It was very characteristic of Cora!"

"What I mean is, was it a bêtise pure and simple? Did she just blurt out what was in her mind without thinking? Or was she being malicious - amusing herself by upsetting everyone?"

Helen reflected.

"You can't ever be quite sure about a person, can you? I never have known whether she was just ingenuous - or whether she counted, childishly, on making an effect. That's what you mean, isn't it?"

"Yes. I was thinking: Suppose this Mrs Cora says to herself 'What fun it would be to ask if Richard was murdered and see how they all look!' That would be like her, yes?"

Helen looked doubtful.

"It might be. She certainly had an impish sense of humour as a child. But what difference does it make?"

"It would underline the point that it is unwise to make jokes about murder," said Poirot dryly.

Helen shivered. "Poor Cora."

Poirot changed the subject.

"Mrs Timothy Abernethie stayed the night after the funeral?"

"Yes."

"Did she talk to you at all about what Cora had said?"

"Yes, she said it was outrageous and just like Cora!"

"She didn't take it seriously?"

"Oh, no. No, I'm sure she didn't."

The second "no," Poirot thought, had sounded suddenly doubtful. But was not that almost always the case when you went back over something in your mind?

"And you, Madame, did you take it seriously?"

Helen Abernethie, her eyes looking very blue and strangely young under the sideways sweep of crisp grey hair, said thoughtfully:

"Yes, M. Poirot, I think I did."

"Because of your feeling that something was wrong?"

"Perhaps."

He waited - but as she said nothing more, he went on:

"There had been an estrangement, lasting many years, between Mrs Lansquenet and her family?"

"Yes. None of us liked her husband and she was offended about it, and so the estrangement grew."

"And then, suddenly, your brother-in-law went to see her. Why?"

"I don't know - I suppose he knew, or guessed, that he hadn't very long to live and wanted to be reconciled but I really don't know."

"He didn't tell you?"

"Tell me?"

"Yes. You were here, staying with him, just before he went there. He didn't even mention his intention to you?"

He thought a slight reserve came into her manner.

"He told me that he was going to see his brother Timothy - which he did. He never mentioned Cora at all. Shall we go in? It must be nearly lunchtime."

She walked beside him carrying the flowers she had picked. As they went in by the side door, Poirot said:

"You are sure, quite sure, that during your visit, Mr Abernethie said nothing to you about any member of the family which might be relevant?"

A faint resentment in her manner, Helen said:

"You are speaking like a policeman."

"I was a policeman - once. I have no status - no right to question you. But you want the truth - or so I have been led to believe?"

They entered the green drawing-room. Helen said with a sigh:

"Richard was disappointed in the younger generation. Old men usually are. He disparaged them in various ways - but there was nothing - nothing, do you understand - that could possibly suggest a motive for murder."

"Ah," said Poirot. She reached for a Chinese bowl, and began to arrange the roses in it. When they were disposed to her satisfaction she looked round for a place to put it.

"You arrange flowers admirably, Madame," said Hercule. "I think that anything you undertook you would manage to do with perfection."

"Thank you. I am fond of flowers. I think this would look well on that green malachite table."

There was a bouquet of wax flowers under a glass shade on the malachite table. As she lifted it off, Poirot said casually:

"Did anyone tell Mr Abernethie that his niece Susan's husband had come near to poisoning a customer when making up a prescription? Ah, pardon!"

He sprang forward.

The Victorian ornament had slipped from Helen's fingers. Poirot's spring forward was not quick enough. It dropped on the floor and the glass shade broke. Helen gave an expression of annoyance.

"How careless of me. However, the flowers are not damaged. I can get a new glass shade made for it. I'll put it away in the big cupboard under the stairs."

It was not until Poirot had helped her to lift it on to a shelf in the dark cupboard and had followed her back to the drawing-room that he said:

"It was my fault. I should not have startled you."

"What was it that you asked me? I have forgotten."

"Oh, there is no need to repeat my question. Indeed - I have forgotten what it was."

Helen came up to him. She laid her hand on his arm.

"M. Poirot, is there anyone whose life would really bear close investigation? Must people's lives be dragged into this when they have nothing to do with - with -"

"With the death of Cora Lansquenet? Yes. Because one has to examine everything. Oh! it is true enough - it is an old maxim - everyone has something to hide. It is true of all of us - it is perhaps true of you, too, Madame. But I say to you, nothing can be ignored. That is why your friend, Mr Entwhistle, he has come to me. For I am not the police. I am discreet and what I learn does not concern me. But I have to know. And since in this matter is not so much evidence as people - then it is people with whom I occupy myself. I need, madame, to meet everyone who was here on the day of the funeral. And it would be a great convenience - yes, and it would be strategically satisfactory - if I could meet them here."

"I'm afraid," Helen said slowly, "that that would be too difficulty -"

"Not so difficult as you think. Already I have devised a means. The house, it is sold. So Mr Entwhistle will declare. (Entendu, sometimes these things fall through!) He will invite the various member of the family to assemble here and to choose what they will from the furnishings before it is all put up to auction. A suitable weekend can be selected for that purpose."

He paused and then said:

"You see, it is easy, is it not?"

Helen looked at him. The blue eves were cold - almost frosty.

"Are you laying a trap for someone, M. Poirot?"

"Alas! I wish I knew enough. No, I have still the open mind."

"There may," Hercule Poirot added thoughtfully, "be certain tests..."

"Tests? What kind of tests?"

"I have not yet formulated them to myself. And in any case, Madame, it would be better that you should not know them."

"So that I can be tested too?"

"You, Madame, have been taken behind the scenes. Now there is one thing that is doubtful. The young people will, I think, come readily. But it may be difficult, may it not, to secure the presence here of Mr Timothy Abernethie. I hear that he never leaves home."

Helen smiled suddenly.

"I believe you may be lucky there, M. Poirot. I heard from Maude yesterday. The workmen are in painting the house and Timothy is suffering terribly from the smell of the paint. He says that it is seriously affecting his health. I think that he and Maude would both be pleased to come here - perhaps for a week or two. Maude is still not able to get about very well - you know she broke her ankle?"

"I had not heard. How unfortunate."

"Luckily they have got Cora's companion, Miss Gilchrist. It seems that she has turned out a perfect treasure."

"What is that?" Poirot turned sharply on Helen. "Did they ask for Miss Gilchrist to go to them? Who suggested it?"

"I think Susan fixed it up. Susan Banks."

"Aha," said Poirot in a curious voice. "So it was the little Susan who suggested it. She is fond of making the arrangements."

"Susan struck me as being a very competent girl."

"Yes. She is competent. Did you hear that Miss Gilchrist had a narrow escape from death with a piece of poisoned wedding cake?"

"No!" Helen looked startled. "I do remember now that Maude said over the telephone that Miss Gilchrist had just come out of hospital but I'd no idea why she had been in hospital. Poisoned? But, M. Poirot - why?"

"Do you really ask that?"

Helen said with sudden vehemence:

"Oh! get them all here! Find out the truth! There mustn't be any more murders."

"So you will co-operate?"

"Yes - I will co-operate."

Chapter 15

"That linoleum does look nice, Mrs Jones. What a hand you have with lino. The teapot's on the kitchen table, so go and help yourself. I'll be there as soon as I've taken up Mr Abernethie's elevenses."

Miss Gilchrist trotted up the staircase, carrying a daintily set out tray. She tapped on Timothy's door, interpreted a growl from within as an invitation to enter, and tripped briskly in.

"Morning coffee and biscuits, Mr Abernethie. I do hope you're feeling brighter today. Such a lovely day."

Timothy grunted and said suspiciously:

"Is there skim on that milk?"

"Oh no, Mr Abernethie. I took it off very carefully, and anyway I've brought up the little strainer in case it should form again. Some people like it, you know, they say it's the cream - and so it is really."

"Idiots!" said Timothy. "What kind of biscuits are those?"

"They're those nice digestive biscuits."

"Digestive tripe. Ginger-nuts are the only biscuits worth eating."

"I'm afraid the grocer hadn't got any this week. But these are really very nice. You try them and see."

"I know what they're like, thank you. Leave those curtains alone, can't you?"

"I thought you might like a little sunshine. It's such a nice sunny day."

"I want the room kept dark. My head's terrible. It's this paint. I've always been sensitive to paint. It's poisoning me."

Miss Gilchrist sniffed experimentally and said brightly:

"One really can't smell it much in here. The workmen are over on the other side."

"You're not sensitive like I am. Must I have all the books I'm reading taken out of my reach?"

"I'm so sorry, Mr Abernethie, I didn't know you were reading all of them."

"Where's my wife? I haven't seen her for over an hour."

"Mrs Abernethie's resting on the sofa."

"Tell her to come and rest up here."

"I'll tell her, Mr Abernethie. But she may have dropped off to sleep. Shall we say in about a quarter of an hour?"

"No, tell her I want her now. Don't monkey about with that rug. It's arranged the way I like it."

"I'm so sorry. I thought it was slipping off the far side."

"I like it slipping off. Go and get Maude. I want her."

Miss Gilchrist departed downstairs and tiptoed into the drawing-room where Maude Abernethie was sitting with her leg up reading a novel.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs Abernethie," she said apologetically. "Mr Abernethie is asking for you."

Maude thrust aside her novel with a guilty, expression.

"Oh dear," she said, "I'll go up at once."

She reached for her stick.

Timothy burst out as soon as his wife entered the room:

"So there you are at last!"

"I'm so sorry, dear, I didn't know you wanted me."

"That woman you've got into the house will drive me mad. Twittering and fluttering round like a demented hen. Real typical old maid, that's what she is."

"I'm sorry she annoys you. She tries to be kind, that's all."

"I don't want anybody kind. I don't want a blasted old maid always chirruping over me. She's so damned arch, too -"