第 24 页

He slept then, and as he slept he dreamed...

He dreamed of the green malachite table. On it was the glass-covered stand of wax flowers - only the whole thing had been painted over with thick crimson oil paint. Paint the colour of blood. He could smell the paint, and Timothy was groaning, was saying "I'm dying - dying... this is the end." And Maude, standing by, tall and stern, with a large knife in her hand was echoing him, saying "Yes, it's the end..." The end - a deathbed, with candles and a nun praying. If he could just see the nun's face, he would know...

Hercule Poirot woke up - and he did know!

Yes, it was the end...

Though there was still a long way to go.

He sorted out the various bits of the mosaic.

Mr Entwhistle, the smell of paint, Timothy's house and something that must be in it - or might be in it... the wax flowers... Helen... Broken glass...

III

Helen Abernethie, in her room, took some time in going to bed. She was thinking.

Sitting in front of her dressing-table, she stared at herself unseeingly in the glass.

She had been forced into having Hercule Poirot in the house. She had not wanted it. But Mr Entwhistle had made it hard for her to refuse. And now the whole thing had come out into the open. No question any more of letting Richard Abernethie lie quiet in his grave. All started by those few words of Cora's...

That day after the funeral... How had they all looked, she wondered? How had they looked to Cora? How had she herself looked?

What was it George had said? About seeing oneself?

There was some quotation, too. To see ourselves as others see us... As others see us.

The eyes that were staring into the glass unseeingly suddenly focused. She was seeing herself - but not really herself - not herself as others saw her - not as Cora had seen her that day.

Her right - no, her left eyebrow was arched a little higher than the right. The mouth? No, the curve of the mouth was symmetrical. If she met herself she would surely not see much difference from this mirror image. Not like Cora.

Cora - the picture came quite clearly... Cora, on the day of the funeral, her head tilted sideways - asking her question - looking at Helen...

Suddenly Helen raised her hands to her face. She said to herself. "It doesn't make sense... it can't make sense...."

IV

Miss Entwhistle was aroused from a delightful dream in which she was playing Piquet with Queen Mary, by the ringing of the telephone.

She tried to ignore it - but it persisted. Sleepily she raised her head from the pillow and looked at the watch beside her bed. Five minutes to seven - who on earth could be ringing up at that hour? It must be a wrong number.

The irritating ding-ding continued. Miss Entwhistle sighed, snatched up a dressing-gown and marched into the sitting-room.

"This is Kensington 675498," she said with asperity as she picked up the receiver.

"This is Mrs Abernethie speaking. Mrs Leo Abernethie. Can I speak to Mr Entwhistle?"

"Oh, good morning, Mrs Abernethie." The "good morning" was not cordial. "This is Miss Entwhistle. My brother is still asleep I'm afraid. I was asleep myself."

"I'm so sorry," Helen was forced to the apology. "But it's very important that I should speak to your brother at once."

"Wouldn't it do later?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Oh, very well then."

Miss Entwhistle was tart.

She tapped at her brother's door and went in.

"Those Abernethies again!" she said bitterly.

"Eh! The Abernethies?"

"Mrs Leo Abernethie. Ringing up before seven in the morning! Really!"

"Mrs Leo, is it? Dear me. How remarkable. Where is my dressing-gown? Ah, thank you."

Presently he was saying:

"Entwhistle speaking. Is that you, Helen?"

"Yes. I'm terribly sorry to get you out of bed like this. But you did tell me once to ring you up at once if I remembered what it was that struck me as having been wrong somehow on the day of the funeral when Cora electrified us all by suggesting that Richard had been murdered."

"Ah! You have remembered?"

Helen said in a puzzled voice:

"Yes, but it doesn't make sense."

"You must allow me to be the judge of that. Was it something you noticed about one of the people?"

"Yes."

"Tell me."

"It seems absurd." Helen's voice sounded apologetic. "But I'm quite sure of it. It came to me when I was looking at myself in the glass last night. Oh..."

The little startled half cry was succeeded by a sound that came oddly through the wires - a dull heavy sound that Mr Entwhistle couldn't place at all.

He said urgently:

"Hallo - hallo - are you there? Helen, are you there?... Helen..."

Chapter 21

It was not until nearly an hour later that Mr Entwhistle, after a great deal of conversation with supervisors and others, found himself at last speaking to Hercule Poirot.

"Thank heaven!" said Mr Entwhistle with pardonable exasperation. "The Exchange seems to have had the greatest difficulty in getting the number."

"That is not surprising. The receiver was off the hook."

There was a grim quality in Poirot's voice which carried through to the listener.

Mr Entwhistle said sharply:

"Has something happened?"

"Yes. Mrs Leo Abernethie was found by the housemaid about twenty minutes ago lying by the telephone in the study. She was unconscious. A serious concussion."

"Do you mean she was struck on the head?"

"I think so. It is just possible that she fell and struck her head on a marble doorstop, but me I do not think so, and the doctor, he does not think so either."

"She was telephoning to me at the time. I wondered when we were cut off so suddenly.

"So it was to you she was telephoning? What did she say?"

"She mentioned to me some time ago that on the occasion when Cora Lansquenet suggested her brother had been murdered, she herself had a feeling of something being wrong - odd - she did not quite know how to put it - unfortunately she could not remember why she had that impression."

"And suddenly, she did remember?"

"Yes."

"And rang you up to tell you?"

"Yes."

"Eh bien?"

"There's no eh bien about it," said Mr Entwhistle testily. "She started to tell me, but was interrupted."

"How much had she said?"

"Nothing pertinent."

"You will excuse me, mon ami, but I am the judge of that, not you. What exactly did she say?"

"She reminded me that I had asked her to let me know at once if she remembered what it was that had struck her as peculiar. She said she had remembered - but that it 'didn't make sense.'

"I asked her if it was something about one of the people who were there that day, and she said, yes, it was. She said it had come to her when she was looking in the glass -"

"Yes?"

"That was all."

"She gave no hint as to - which of the people concerned it was?"

"I should hardly fail to let you know if she had told me that," said Mr Entwhistle acidly.

"I apologise, mon ami. Of course you would have told me."

Mr Entwhistle said:

"We shall just have to wait until she recovers consciousness before we know."

Poirot said gravely:

"That may not be for a very long time. Perhaps never."

"Is it as bad as that?" Mr Entwhistle's voice shook a little.

"Yes, it is as bad as that."

"But - that's terrible, Poirot."

"Yes, it is terrible. And it is why we cannot afford to wait. For it shows that we have to deal with someone who is either completely ruthless or so frightened that it comes to the same thing."

"But look here, Poirot, what about Helen? I feel worried. Are you sure she would be safe at Enderby?"

"No, she would not be safe. So she is not at Enderby. Already the ambulance has come and is taking her to a nursing home where she will have special nurses and where no one, family or otherwise, will be allowed to see her."

Mr Entwhistle sighed.

"You relieve my mind! She might have been in danger."

"She assuredly would have been in danger!"

M Entwhistle's voice sounded deeply moved.

"I have a great regard for Helen Abernethie. I always have had. A woman of very exceptional character. She may have had certain - what shall I say? - reticences in her life."

"Ah, there were reticences?"

"I have always had an idea that such was the case."

"Hence the villa in Cyprus. Yes, that explains a good deal..."

"I don't want you to begin thinking"

"You cannot stop me thinking. But now, there is a little commission that I have for you. One moment."

There was a pause, then Poirot's voice spoke again.

"I had to make sure that nobody was listening. All is well. Now here is what I want you to do for me. You must prepare to make a journey."

"A journey?" Mr Entwhistle sounded faintly dismayed "Oh, I see - you want me to come down to Enderby?"

"Not at all. I am in charge here. No, you will not have to travel so far. Your journey will not take you very far from London. You will travel to Bury St Edmunds - (Ma foi! what names your English towns have!) and there you will hire a car and drive to Forsdyke House. It is a Mental Home. Ask for Dr Penrith and inquire of him particulars about a patient who was recently discharged."

"What patient? Anyway, surely -"

Poirot broke in:

"The name of the patient is Gregory Banks. Find out for what form of insanity he was being treated."

"Do you mean that Gregory Banks is insane?"

"Sh! Be careful what you say. And now - I have not yet breakfasted and you, too, I suspect have not breakfasted?"

"Not yet. I was too anxious -"

"Quite so. Then, I pray you, eat your breakfast, repose yourself. There is a good train to Bury St Edmunds at twelve o'clock. If I have any more news I will telephone you before you start."

"Be careful of yourself, Poirot," said Mr Entwhistle with some concern.

"Ah that, yes! Me, I do not want to be hit on the head with a marble doorstop. You may be assured that I will take every precaution. And now - for the moment - good-bye."

Poirot heard the sound of the receiver being replaced at the other end, then he heard a very faint second click - and smiled to himself. Somebody had replaced the receiver on the telephone in the hall.

He went out there. There was no one about. He tiptoed to the cupboard at the back of the stairs and looked inside. At that moment Lanscombe came through the service door carrying a tray with toast and a silver coffee pot. He looked slightly surprised to see Poirot emerge from the cupboard.

"Breakfast is ready in the dining-room, sir," he said.

Poirot surveyed him thoughtfully.

The old butler looked white and shaken.

"Courage," said Poirot, clapping him on the shoulder. "All will yet be well. Would it be too much trouble to serve me a cup of coffee in my bedroom?"

"Certainly, sir. I will send Janet up with it, sir."

Lanscombe looked disapprovingly at Hercule Poirot's back as the latter climbed the stairs. Poirot was attired in an exotic silk dressing-gown with a pattern of triangles and squares.

"Foreigners!" thought Lanscombe bitterly. "Foreigners in the house! And Mrs Leo with concussion! I don't know what we're coming to. Nothing's the same since Mr Richard died."

Hercule Poirot was dressed by the time he received his coffee from Janet. His murmurs of sympathy were well received, since he stressed the shock her discovery must have given her.

"Yes, indeed, sir, what I felt when I opened the door of the study and came in with the Hoover and saw Mrs Leo lying there I never shall forget. There she lay - and I made sure she was dead. She must have been taken faint as she stood at the phone - and fancy her being up at that time in the morning! I've never known her do such a thing before."

"Fancy, indeed!" He added casually: "No one else was up, I suppose?"

"As it happens, sir, Mrs Timothy was up and about. She's a very early riser always - often goes for a walk before breakfast."

"She is of the generation that rises early," said Poirot nodding his head. "The younger ones, now - they do not get up so early?"

"No, indeed, sir, all fast asleep when I brought them their tea - and very late I was, too, what with the shock and getting the doctor to come and having to have a cup first to steady myself."

She went off and Poirot reflected on what she had said.

Maude Abernethie had been up and about, and the younger generation had been in bed - but that, Poirot reflected, meant nothing at all. Anyone could have heard Helen's door open and close, and have followed her down to listen - and would afterwards have made, a point of being fast asleep in bed.

"But if I am right," thought Poirot. "And after all, it is natural to me to be right - it is a habit I have! - then there is no need to go into who was here and who was there. First, I must seek a proof where I have deduced the proof may be. And then - I make my little speech. And I sit back and see what happens...

As soon as Janet had left the room, Poirot drained his coffee cup, put on his overcoat and his hat, left his room, ran nimbly down the back stairs and left the house by the side door. He walked briskly the quarter-mile to the post office where he demanded a trunk call. Presently he was once more speaking to Mr Entwhistle.

"Yes, it is I yet again! Pay no attention to the commission with which I entrusted you. C'était une blague! Someone was listening. Now, mon viex, to the real commission. You must, as I said, take a train. But not to Bury St Edmunds. I want you to proceed to the house of Mr Timothy Abernethie."

"But Timothy and Maude are at Enderby."

"Exactly. There is no one in the house but a woman by the name of Jones who has been persuaded by the offer of considerable largesse to guard the house whilst they are absent. What I want you to do is to take something out of that house!"